


only talk about a bruise

by brokendrums



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 07:32:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11962677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokendrums/pseuds/brokendrums
Summary: With the eclipse fast approaching, the pack is thrown into crisis. New to it all, Harry tries to find his place.





	only talk about a bruise

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to [ littlecather ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/littlecather/pseuds/littlecather) for the quick and last minute beta!! And of course, to the fab mods over at [wolvesfest](https://wolvesfest.tumblr.com) for organising this fic fest! I'm so excited to go and read them all!
> 
> Title from Iron & Wine - About a Bruise

_We have a problem_

Harry’s phone buzzes against his hip. He pulls it out by the string of his earphones, catches it in his other hand without breaking his stride. 

Beside him, Gemma snorts. “Can’t even go an hour without checking it, can you?”

She’s out of breath but still manages to sound pissed off. Harry ignores her, thumbing his phone open. She still hasn’t mentioned how his dexterity has gotten so much better. 

It’s Louis: _Get over here NOW._

These types of messages have been getting more frequent lately, Harry pulled across town as more strange things start to happen. A year ago, he’d never even met Louis but now he sees him once or twice a week. 

And of course, their monthly meeting.

Harry feels a residual tug deep down below his gut. It’s a space inside his body that he wasn’t very aware of before last summer but now seems to rule his decision making processes. Something inside him making up his mind that he needs to get across town as fast as possible. 

He slows down, falls a few paces behind Gemma. The rest of the group grunt and complain, dodging him as they run up the hill. 

“Harry?” Gemma calls, turning her head to look at him. The sun is just behind her and it looks like a halo around her ponytail. She jogs on the spot for a moment, her face pink from the sharp easterly wind this morning. 

“I have to go,” he tells her, his grip still tight around his phone. He blinks, the light refracting sharply across his vision before it clears. 

Gemma huffs a breath again, puts a hand to her hip. It’s so like their mum, it’s laughable. “We’re hardly even a mile in.”

Harry shrugs, tries to look apologetic. “I’ll make it up to you.”

Her red face twists and then she’s turning, giving him the finger over her shoulder as she continues up the slope. “He better be worth it!” 

Harry laughs, his phone buzzing again with the notification of the message. They don’t need to send a message twice. He turns against the flow of the other runners, smiling apologetically as he makes them change their track. 

Their Sunday run has been a standing appointment between Harry and Gemma since the summer, Harry wanting to get rid of his new found energy and Gemma trying to keep up with him. She’d been surprised when he had suggested it -- surprised that he was staying here and not heading back to London or someplace new.

Harry’s mum had moved there just before he went to university so Harry doesn’t feel the base of home here, didn’t feel lured back each summer between terms. There’s a million nooks and crannies he hasn’t discovered yet, not used to yet. 

He loops down the slope, heading towards town. To his left the wind rouses the ocean until it’s foaming below him. He can smell the salt. The association of fish and dulse and oil. It turns his stomach a little -- so strong now. 

Sometimes it feels as if the town is on the edge of the world, the cliff eroding until it’s creeping up to the bottom of people’s back gardens, salt spray discolouring all the old buildings of the town. On the other side, deep leafy forests hem it in, not allowing for the town to sprawl inland so it’s grew in on itself, houses dotted in any available space in the sloping fields. 

His feet slap down on sandstone slabs, across cobbled streets. It’s a picture of slate and beige brick, crooked stone walls and creeping ivy. 

Louis’s house isn’t that far, a simple semi-detached house nestled in a leafy cul-de-sac just on the edge of town. Harry’s glad he ran there instead of heading back for his car; the driveway is full with parked cars, some of them spilling onto the curbs of the other houses. 

His front door is open when Harry tries the handle so he heads on in, glancing at his sweaty red face in the mirror in the hallway before making his way through the house. 

The house smells of people, just because there’s so many of them inside and there’s a faint smell of wet dog, like Louis has tried his best to shake and vac it out, an Ambi Pure squirting scents of honeysuckle in the corner. It had taken a few weeks to get used to his new found hyper sense of smell but some things still throw him. Harry’d found himself sneezing on the train at too powdery perfume and unable to use a public bathroom for weeks. He’d know when it was going to rain, could smell it coming in over the ocean and his mum would laugh as he took the washing in five or ten minutes before the clouds even gathered. 

Harry rubs at his nose, pushes the door into the living room. 

Niall clocks him straight away, nodding at him as soon as Harry edges through the door. Harry locks eyes with him, something hot threading into his veins. It always feels like Niall’s one step ahead, as if he was waiting for Harry to come through the door.

It had been unnerving at the beginning, like he was being tracked. Now it just makes his skin prickle, the weight of watchful eyes. 

Zayn’s at his elbow, his face pale and strained. He’s not looking at Harry at all. Harry follows his gaze on the cluster of people in the middle of the room. 

“What’s happened?” Harry asks, glancing around. Most of the pack is there and a few unfamiliar faces. Harry’s never been summoned to something like this before. Everyone looks so much more serious.

They mostly ignore him, Souts glancing up to give him a small smile. 

There’s a quiet _yip_ and a scrabble of claws on hardwood floor. Harry looks around and a blur of blond bolts out of the cluster of humans in the middle of the living room. 

“Harry,” Niall says sharply whilst Louis cries, “Freddie!”

The wolf is tiny. Barely tall enough to reach Harry’s knee. It’s paws sprawl out before him as it tries to support all of it’s weight. It bites at Harry’s ankles, jaw snapping and Louis lunges for him. 

“It’s not the moon yet,” Harry says dumbly, jumping out of the way. 

Louis turns to him, his face furious. He looks like his wolf, his face rough and raging. The little wolf in his arms thrashes, it’s paws reaching. It looks harmless like this -- like a puppy -- but Louis’s fierce face is a reminder of what they actually are. 

“I fucking _know_ that!” Louis snaps at him. 

Harry swallows, a little stung and retreats back to the edge of the kitchen. 

There’s a tall man, vaguely familiar and a picture of calm, sitting on the sofa and Louis slinks back to him. Briana crowds in on Louis’s left, her hand reaching out hesitantly. Freddie’s jaws snap again and she shrinks back, Eleanor’s arm going round her shoulders. 

“Okay,” the stranger says patiently. “Let’s have a look at him.” 

Harry watches as the man pats at Freddie’s head. It takes a moment for the weight of what’s actually happening to settle in, his stomach turning as he realises that inside the little puppy is a little baby. 

He’s only met Freddie once but he’s sure that he was 100% baby last time. He had been a bright little thing, smiling and laughing as Harry pulled his faces. Harry blinks, wetness gathering at the corner of his eyes. He _hates_ this.

“Hello,” Niall interrupts, sliding up to him. The house is still full of people but they fade away when he speaks to Niall. Niall smiles gently at him, looking calm despite how pale he is. 

Harry feels himself smiling back. He wants to lean in close to him, press his face into his neck. He knows it’s probably something to do with how young he is -- his wolf, that is -- but he finds himself leaning in, inhaling deeply. It makes him feel calmer, less panicked by the wolf-baby across the room restrained on the sofa. 

Niall’s grin turns up at the corner and Harry rolls his eyes, looking away. Harry turns a little, so his back is on the rest of the living room and he can see the kitchen. It’s a mess -- as if Freddie turning into a wolf had interrupted breakfast. 

Over his shoulder, Freddie barks again, Eleanor and Briana fussing. Harry knows that Niall should be attending to that but he follows Harry’s lead and edges them further into the kitchen away from prying ears. 

“Are you alright?” Niall asks softly, his voice smooth and settling. 

He had first met Niall just before his first change. Niall had turned up at his house just after teatime, the sun starting to set and he had immediately felt calmer, like the muscles under his skin slotting into place and he hadn’t even said anything yet.

Harry was angry -- angry that he’d been left for four weeks to handle _this_ before he even met Niall -- but Niall had smiled at him and it all just ebbed out of him, tension draining right out of his shoulders. 

He’s since learned that it’s an alpha thing. 

Harry nods, breathes out through his nose. “I don’t really understand what’s happening.”

Niall sighs quietly. “This hasn’t happened before. We’re all in the dark.”

The front door bangs open. Harry startles but Niall doesn’t move a muscle. Harry can tell there’s another wolf in the building but Niall seems unsurprised when Liam bounds through the door, as if he can tell who is who just by scent alone. 

“Shit.” Liam takes in everyone spread around the room, his eyes are a little wild, his coat half hanging off him. “Who died?”

He stares over at Niall and then is distracted by another _yip_ from the corner. Liam’s face pales as he staggers over to the cluster of people and spots Freddie. “Oh, no,” he says faintly. “What’s happened?”

Freddie lifts his head curiously, wriggling in Louis’s arms as he tries to get up to investigate Liam. Harry watches Liam hesitate and glance over at Niall again. Louis’s face is growing more stoney. Niall’s nod is nearly unnoticeable.

“Hey, little lad,” Liam says, his voice brittle. He lifts a hand and gingerly pats his head. Freddie squirms, his nose pressing up against Liam’s wrist instead. 

“Well,” the stranger says, approaching Niall. “Chief.”

“Bressie,” Niall says, his voice grave. “What’s going on?”

Harry blinks. Bressie is tall and broad, his t-shirt stretched over his shoulders. He feels familiar and when Harry closes his eyes he can imagine him leaning over him, his hand on his jaw as he tries to rouse him. 

Harry blinks his eyes open and Bressie throws him a gentle smile. “How’re you feeling?”

“Fine,” Harry answers automatically, his shoulder aching even as he says it. Bressie’s face swims a little and Harry blinks away the floaters in his vision. He had thought he’d been getting used to these symptoms but they’re back. It feels like the week leading up to a full moon, his head full of cotton wool and his wound aching. He stretches his fingers before folding them back into his palm. His body feels like it used to a few days after the gym, everything squeezed tight. 

Bressie gives a quiet snort, his hand coming down to pat at Harry’s shoulder. It’s the one with the bite and Harry can’t help the wince, his face crumpling as Bressie gives his aching muscles a squeeze. 

“Sorry,” he says, lifting a hand. “So hard to remember where all you young’uns got bit.”

Niall frowns, his face shadowed with concern. “Are you alright?” 

Harry smiles tightly. “Yeah.”

“It’ll be sore for a while yet,” Bressie barrels on saying. Niall’s face dips more, his eyes trailing down to stare at Harry’s covered shoulder. Harry feels self conscious, his muscles tightening as he stands rigid in front of him. Niall’s eyes feel hot on him, too curious. “Niall, you remember how long it takes to heal. Fuckin’ horrendous time, isn’t it.”

Niall lets out a breath loudly. “Yeah,” he says quietly, blinking quickly and dragging his gaze away from Harry. Niall’s hand presses flat against his thigh, his teeth digging into his bottom lip.

Harry swallows at the sudden discomfort radiating off Niall. 

“Freddie,” Niall prompts, turning so he’s not looking at Harry and Bressie nods.

“Yeah, puzzling altogether, Chief. I’ll have to go and do some reading --” Bressie starts, his voice dropping. “Lou says it’s never happened to Lux but that there’s rumours of a little wolf down by Mizen.” There’s some things he’s not privvy to but Niall doesn’t seem to mind that Harry is in such close proximity. He feels awkward loitering though so starts tidying to distract himself. 

He’s turning glasses of orange juice into the dishwasher when Liam interrupts them, sliding over to Niall with a terrified expression. 

“Niall,” he says, reaching out with his fingers to Niall’s elbow. “What is this?”

“We’ll work it out,” Niall reassures him. “Calm down.”

“It’s alright for you,” Liam talks over him, his voice rising. “ _You_ don’t have a baby on the way. Cheryl’s literally about to pop!”

Niall stares at him and it takes a few moments before Liam’s hackles go down, his shoulders falling. 

Bressie looks like he wants to melt into the microwave behind his shoulder and Harry stares at the drips of juice sliding off the rim of the upturned glass in his hand. He feels frozen, like everything inside him has gone rigid. It’s quiet in the other room, Liam loud enough that even the people who aren’t wolves can overhear. 

“Sorry,” Liam says tightly, his teeth clenched. His drops his head forward, his shoulders rounded. He takes a deep breath and Niall pats him on the shoulder. 

“We’re doing our best to figure it out,” Niall tells him, his voice even. There’s no warmth in it, nothing soothing about his tone. “We’re all worried. Freddie is still part of the pack. Just like Cheryl is and all the other humans.” 

Liam nods, glances at Bressie and then at Harry. He looks a bit shamefaced, his lips pressed together. 

Harry’s never met Cheryl before but it’s hard not to feel the warmth of awed love he has for her when they change. Harry knows she’s not a wolf but he doesn’t know if she knows about Liam. 

Harry stays by the dishwasher whilst Liam and Niall head back into the living room. Bressie gives him a bright grin before he disappears too. 

It’s easier to think with the kitchen empty. He’s useless in these situations, not experienced enough to have an opinion on anything. The past few days things have been escalating -- a story in the paper about suspicious behaviour in the next big town, irregular tides by the beach causing mayhem for all the shorefront businesses, bucketing rain and lightning that ignites the sky at night. There’s a general hum as the sun goes down, the moon waning into a thinner sliver of a crescent each passing night. It takes the sun a little longer to rise the next morning, sluggish and grey, the horizon full of a dense creeping fog. 

There’s been a lot of speculating in the group Whatsapp but Harry stays away from it. He puts it on mute and maybe takes a scroll through it every now and again just before bed. He keeps his curtains open so he can see the sky, the twinkling stars and the moon that has changed so much in his life now.

Niall thinks it’s the eclipse drawing nearer but the uncertainty hangs over them all heavily. None of them have been wolves long enough to remember the last eclipse, the dangers of a small and young pack. 

Harry’s wiping down the counters when Niall comes back, pulling on his coat. There’s fur on the hood and he looks funny, his human face surrounded in the exact shade of his wolf. Harry wants to run the back of his hand over it, feel it tickle his knuckles. 

“Do you want to come round later?” Niall asks him. 

Harry presses his lips on saying yes. He already feels anxious, his skin tightening across his limbs. He’ll pace the halls at home tonight and have trouble sleeping -- just like he does every other moon-eve. It’s just bizarre because it’s not the end of the month yet, the last one still lingering painfully close. 

“Come on,” Niall says, his voice cajoling. He zips up his coat, his head disappearing into the hood until he throws it back so Harry can see his face again. “I can make you dinner. You can help me study.”

“Study?” Harry asks, laughing at the look of disgust that slides over Niall’s face. 

“Downside of pretending to know everything,” Niall says, the corner of his mouth turning up. He has a coy look on his face, a twinkle in his eye.

“Okay,” Harry feels himself answering. Niall grins at him, turning his head a second before Eleanor comes into the room. She pauses when she sees how shining her kitchen is, her face crumpling slightly. 

“Thank you, Harry,” she murmurs, her eyes smudged with eyeliner. Niall pats him bracingly on the side of his arm and Harry smiles, finally feeling useful. 

*

Harry rings the doorbell and tries to blame his trepidation on being nervous. He has the impending feeling that he’s about to make an arse of himself as he waits on the doorstep. 

It’s chilly out and Harry regrets not bringing a coat. He shivers, the breeze slicing through the silk of his shirt. He wonders if he’s made too much of an effort -- his shirt a little too sheer, his jeans a little too tight. 

Niall lives right on the edge of town, his house up a winding lane and perched on top of the cliff edge, the sun setting across the rough ocean under it. Harry’s been there once before but doesn’t remember how he got here so Niall had to text him directions.

He’s seen the house before from the road, the aged paintwork but impressive sprawl of the building between the trees. He’d always wondered who lived there looking down on the town like that. The lane was nearly hidden by overgrown shrubbery, Harry’s wheels gaining traction on the soft earth as he climbed up. 

Niall answers the door a little out of breath. He grins at Harry, pulling the door wide open to let him through. He’s wearing a green-y blue shirt and a pair of jeans, his hair fluffed up on top of his forehead. He’d be veering on the side of casual if Harry couldn’t smell the faint scent of rose vaseline and aftershave.

Harry drags his eyes away from Niall’s soft lips and pushes his gift into his hands. 

“Oh,” Niall says, grinning down at the heavy candle. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

Harry swallows, feeling nervous again. Being around Niall usually makes him feel calmer but some of the butterflies still manage to get through. “It reminded me of you,” he says and immediately regrets it. 

Niall grins, his gaze dropping to Harry’s lips before he blinks away. Harry follows him through the house. The last time he was here he had been a little woozy on the morphine they had given him. Zayn had made him tea and buttered toast, and explained in a low, gentle voice what had happened to him.

It was just after his bite. 

Niall hadn’t been there. 

It’s huge, just as Harry remembered. The hallway is open and airy, a staircase up one side of the room and two oak doors leading off into a living room and kitchen. 

“Do you live here with Zayn?” Harry asks, glancing around at the maroon and gold carpet rug leading up the stairs. There’s old photos in new frames on the walls -- a black and white print of the house about a hundred years ago, the edges blurring. There’s a man standing in front of it in a long cloak, a square of white at his throat. There’s an animal at his knee, too large to be a dog. 

Harry stares at it, the wolf knelt down on all fours so it’s as close to the ground as possible. There’s no moon in the photograph. It’s the middle of the day. 

Niall glances over his shoulder, his eyebrows dipping into a frown. “No.” 

Harry jumps, looking round at him. Niall’s standing by the door at the back of the hall, his hand paused and pressed to the wood. “Oh,” Harry murmurs and follows him down the hallway. 

Niall watches him curiously. “I’m not with Zayn.”

Harry feels hot for a moment. “I didn’t mean it that way,” he stutters a little, his throat feeling tight. He thinks again of Zayn sitting him down on the edge of the bed, of his hand steady on Harry’s arm as he lead him to the door. “I just meant-- he’s normally with you a lot.”

Niall’s face smooths out. “He’s been with me the longest,” Niall says, not leaving much room for Harry to ask any more questions. It just makes him more curious. “I’m nearly done with dinner.” 

Niall holds the kitchen door open for him. It smells of cooking, aromas of freshly chopped rosemary and boiling potatoes filling the room. “Do you want a beer?”

“Sure,” Harry responds, following him inside. The kitchen is modern, all white tile and dark marble surfaces. There’s a huge wooden table in the centre, one side pressed up against the wall to make more room for walking past it. In a past life, Harry thinks it could’ve doubled as a doctor’s bench, the wood scrubbed and scrubbed until it’s hardly smooth at all. 

It’s set for two, burgundy cloth placemats curling slightly in front of the chairs closest to the door. There’s a few flowers shoved into an old jam jar, the petals slightly crumpled. Harry wonders if he pulled them from his own garden, the curl of them looking a little wild. 

Niall uncaps a bottle of beer and passes it to him, his fingers feeling warm on the cold neck of the bottle. Their eyes meet for a moment before Harry slides his gaze away, moving to lean up against the bench as Niall gets back to cooking. 

“Just need to shove these in,” Niall says, emptying a collander of fluffy looking potatoes into a pan. He looks at ease, moving about his kitchen as if he knows exactly what he’s doing. It’s sort of hot, that confident set of his shoulders as he pulls things out of cupboards and shakes pots and pans. 

“Can I help?” Harry asks, feeling a little out of place. Niall smiles at him, slides a bread knife across the counter. Harry catches it, his hand slamming down on the handle with a bit more force than necessary. Before he was bitten, he’d probably somehow end up maimed or injured by a move like that. 

Harry blinks at his hand and Niall laughs, his shoulders shaking. 

“Still getting used to it,” Harry tells him, smiling as he looks for the bread bin. Niall doesn’t comment but he smiles and when Harry glances round, he catches him looking, Niall’s ears going pink as he jerks his gaze back to the potatoes. 

Harry laughs, his stomach twisting and sniffs out the tiger loaf beside the toaster. 

“That’s a lot of garlic,” Harry says, watching as Niall breaks apart a bulb of garlic and drops all the cloves across the potatoes. He pours a generous slug of olive oil over them, shaking the pan to make sure they’re coated. 

“Hey,” Niall shrugs, spinning round with a second bulb in his hand. “It’ll keep the vampires away.”

Harry pauses slightly, his knife faltering half way through the loaf. He swallows -- vampires. Fucking, _vampires_. That’s the world he lives in now -- and drags the knife through the bread again. 

Niall guffaws. A huge bark of laughter that makes Harry look round at him. 

“You should see your face,” Niall says, still laughing. He looks good when he laughs. Lighter, somehow. He’s half bent over, one hand holding himself up on the counter. It makes his bum look rounder, his legs long and thin under a pair of tight jeans. “There’s no such thing as vampires.”

Embarrassment creeps up Harry’s neck as he smiles down at the bread. Niall’s still chuckling good naturedly as he rubs a little oil on the meat. “Well until last year, I didn’t think you existed either.”

Niall’s laugh peters out and Harry swallows against an apology. He doesn’t like the feeling of fucking things up and he keeps putting his foot in it around Niall. It’s strangely silent between them for a moment, the soft fall of rain on the windowpane and a Dennis Wilson song filtering through the open door to the living room. 

Harry bites his lip and finishes cutting the bread. Two slices are wonky from where he stopped cutting properly but he props the other slices around it, hiding it under an arrangement of bread. They won’t need the whole loaf but it was nice to distract himself for a few minutes while Niall snaps the ends off asparagus and bangs about in his pot and pans cupboard. 

When he turns to put the plate on the table, Niall’s watching him again. 

“Sorry.” They both apologise at the same time but it’s Niall who laughs first, the tightness across his face lifting. “About last year. I’m sorry.”

Harry shrugs. “It’s not your fault.”

His side aches, the phantom feeling of the bite mark. It gets hot sometimes, some underlying magic that Harry’s still in the dark about. Niall’s face falls again but he shoots Harry a smile when he notices. “Let’s just eat,” Niall says. 

Harry sinks into the chair at the table and watches as Niall goes about finishing off the food. The steaks sizzle when they meet the bottom of the pan and it smells nice, something deep down inside Harry reacting instinctively to the scent. 

Niall doesn’t keep them on long, searing either side before he’s sliding them onto the plates. Niall sighs when he settles down at the seat to Harry’s right, his knee knocking against Harry’s thigh under the table. Harry has a feeling that there’s another dining table -- dining room -- somewhere in the big house but it’s quaint both of them curled into the corner here. 

“I have wine if you prefer,” Niall says, his eyes darting to Harry’s untouched beer. Niall’s onto his second and his eyes widen slightly as if he’s just realised that maybe Harry’s not enjoying himself. 

“Beer’s fine,” Harry says, lifting a fork. Niall’s piled the roast potatoes onto a plate beside the bread, the salad looking a little wilted around the edges from the heat of the candles. Harry spears a piece of asparagus on his fork and shoves it into his mouth. 

Niall’s shoulders relax and he unravels, sinking into his chair as he grabs his own fork. He still looks a little nervous but they slowly start to eat, their knives and forks sliding across plates. 

Harry eats his way through potatoes, reaching for more bread. He cuts through the steak and it’s nearly raw, the juices running pink. His stomach turns. 

Niall doesn’t seem to mind, cutting a chunk of meat off with his knife and popping it into his mouth. “Handy when you have a butcher for a Da,” he’s saying. “I keep meaning to buy him some cattle for Christmas or something. He’s hardly making a profit off me. Ate him out of house and home when I was growing up. Still am, suppose.”

Harry laughs in the right places as Niall talks a bit more about his dad and cuts another bit of meat. Maybe if he cuts it into smaller pieces it won’t seem as noticeable but it’s clear as he eats round it, filling up on greens and potatoes that it isn’t going to disappear. 

“Is it okay?” Niall asks, the nervousness creeping back into his voice. Niall wipes his mouth on a tea towel and Harry sees how his plate is nearly empty.

Harry glances away, feels a little guilty when his eyes catch on the heap of dirty dishes in the sink. “I don’t eat red meat.”

Niall drops his fork. “Oh, shit. You should’ve said!”

Harry laughs and glances sheepishly up at him. “And stop you mid-master-chef?”

Niall throws the teatowel at him and nearly knocks over a bottle of beer. “You eejit. Do you want something else? I might have a few fish fingers in the freezer. Fuck! I knew I should’ve done a curry. I just thought -- y’know, with the whole wolf thing -- it’s nice to just indulge yourself sometime. Ah, Jesus.”

Harry starts to laugh. “Sit down, Niall --” he reaches up and wraps his hands around Niall’s wrist. Niall pauses, glances down at him. The light is behind him so his face is thrown into sharp relief, his jaw cast in shadow. There’s something about his eyes that are nearly hypnotic, Harry’s breath catching at the back of his throat. 

This has happened once before. Harry swallows against the feeling. The last time, Harry had been caught completely unaware. It had been near the start, Harry trying to hide how difficult it was to adjust to his new affliction. He had been out for a walk and stopped by the shore, sitting on a bench. 

He had been nearly in a trance, just staring and it wasn’t until Niall touched his shoulder that he realised he had been staring at Niall’s face, Niall crouched down in front of him, for a few minutes without speaking. 

Niall hadn’t said anything to him, just patted his knee and sat beside him on the bench as they watched the tide come in.

Now, Niall takes a step forward, his free hand going to the side of Harry’s face. Harry has the urge to press his face against Niall’s tummy, into his soft underbelly. He turns his head, rubs his cheek against Niall’s warm palm instead. 

He feels silly. Like his sister’s annoying cat when it’s feeling moody and wants a cuddle. He should be embarrassed but there’s no one else here except Niall so it wanes from him, his instinct to press against his hand harder. 

Niall’s eyes darken, his fingers curling into the shorn sides of Harry’s hair. 

“Are you finished?” Niall asks him softly. 

Harry blinks, swallows. He wonders what they’re going to do next. 

“Yes.”

Niall’s mouth drops open and Harry stares at it, licking out to wet his own lips. 

“We should see about those books,” Niall says, clearing his throat and stepping back. He stands a foot from him -- staring -- before his shakes himself. 

Harry sinks back into his chair, disappointment dropping through him until he feels nearly empty. Niall looks nervous, his hand swiping through his hair so it sticks up all ruffled. Harry wants to run his hands through it. He wants to be the one that messes it up. 

Harry starts to tidy up, collecting the beer bottles in his hands and setting them beside the sink. 

“Leave it,” Niall says, reaching for him and letting his hand brush over Harry’s back. 

Harry freezes. Every touch seems to ignite something in him. He doesn’t know if it’s just casual -- if Niall touches everyone like this -- but the way Niall snaps his hand back tells him that there’s something more meant by it. 

The music is louder in the living room, coming from a speaker tucked inside an impressive looking bookcase. It’s mostly empty, a few paperbacks stacked up at the top, most of the chest height shelves lined with records. 

Niall takes Harry’s candle, leans over the coffee table to light it. It smells woodsy and warm. It makes Harry blush. To him, it smells just like Niall. 

There’s a stack of books on the coffee table beside the candle. They look old and dusty, thick leather bindings and rippling pages with damp. Niall ignores them, falling back into the sofa.

Harry glances around the room, spies how he’s decorated the room with a few photographs. There’s a guitar propped up in the corner -- looking worn from use -- whilst another one hangs on the wall in a more permanent home. 

The song shifts, something slower floating through the speaker. He sinks down beside Niall on the sofa, the cushions soft and inviting. 

“Don’t you want to study?” Harry asks, the feeling of a smile on the corner of his mouth. 

Niall snorts, leaning his head back with a sigh. “Feels like that’s all I do these days. Still can’t make head nor tail of this eclipse shite. It’s all physics. Nothing to do with wolves.”

Harry watches as his throat moves, the soft skin under his chin. He’s shaved but left it a tidy scruff, just something that defines his jaw but nothing more. His hair is dark behind his ears but sweeps up into a lighter blonde where it’s longer. It still looks messy, mussing further when he turns his head to look at Harry. 

Harry smiles at him, sees the softness in his expression like he’s tired. Comfortable. All the nervousness from earlier is gone. 

“I think we’re just going to have to wing it,” Niall whispers, as if it’s a secret. 

Harry looks up at him. It’s a scary thought. He assumed that Niall knew what he was doing. Niall glances back at the ceiling, as if he’s maybe regretting telling Harry that but when he looks at again, he can see the assurance in his eyes. 

He’s only telling Harry this. Like he knows he can trust him. 

Harry swallows, reaches for his beer. It’s lukewarm and he wishes he had a new one like Niall’s sweating on the coffee table beside the candle. He takes a few sips, peels the corner of the label just to do something with his hands. 

“Don’t really know what I’m doing half the time,” Niall says and he sounds closer, his voice soft but just as loud. Harry glances up and sees how he’s turned his head and shoulders, most of his body curled towards Harry on the sofa. 

“You’re a good leader,” Harry says honestly. “You’ve looked after me.”

Niall huffs a laugh and looks back at the ceiling. Harry lifts a hand and pats at Niall’s thigh comfortingly. 

He can feel the way Niall stills under his palm and Harry breathes once out through his nose, the sound of it loud as the song changes again. 

He catches Niall’s eye, the draw of him too powerful. Niall shifts, the muscle of his thigh jumping. Harry’s hand is still there, feeling the heat of his leg under the denim. He moves it up an inch, his fingertips feeling across the seam of his jeans. 

“Harry,” Niall whispers, like a warning. 

Harry stares at him, puts a little more pressure on the inside of his thigh. 

Niall meets him in a kiss. Harry leans into it, lets his eyes flutter closed. Niall’s gentle -- gentler than Harry expected. His tongue laps over Harry’s bottom lip, a little too wet and Harry opens his mouth, laughs into Niall’s. 

He can feel the way Niall smiles, the way his shoulders relax a little bit. 

“Is this okay?” Niall asks between kisses, one of his hands moving to tangle in Harry’s hair. 

Harry rises up onto one knee, kisses him harder. “Yes. Please.”

He doesn’t mean to sound begging but it sort of comes out that way, his voice gone rough with want. Niall groans against him, the sound of it rumbling against Harry’s hand where it’s pressed against his chest. 

Harry just about stops himself from climbing into Niall’s lap. They kiss until Harry’s mouth feels sore, his tongue wet. Niall’s stubble scrapes across his chin and cheeks, his hands feel like they’re everywhere. 

He loses his shirt somewhere over the back of the sofa, Niall pulling at the buttons deftly. He seems so controlled compared to where Harry feels like he’s losing it. He wants to press his entire body against Niall’s, wants to rut up against him. 

It feels like he’s going wild with it. The candle flickers on the table, the scent of it filling the room. Harry inhales, feels it at the back of his throat. 

“Niall,” Harry hears himself begging again. Niall grunts, kisses up his neck, his mouth scraping over his Adam’s apple. It makes Harry jerk in shock, the feel of his teeth sharp. It makes something deep down inside him turn over, that same place that seems so new to him now that he’s a wolf. 

A little space where all his primal urges seem to bloom. 

Niall pauses, panting damply against his jaw. He seems to have realised what he’s doing, his shoulders rising with every breath. “Sorry,” he murmurs, his mouth moving slow before he kisses him again. 

Harry struggles to breathe, his chest tight. He _wanted_ it. His side twinges again, a little reminder of what he is now. He doesn’t fully know what it means, just something instinctual singing out inside. 

Harry draws Niall’s mouth up to his to kiss properly. They’ve rolled over, Niall pressing Harry into the cushions now. Harry drops a foot onto the ground to steady himself, his hands going to Niall’s hips to pull him properly against him. 

He grinds against him, Niall’s breath stuttering at the feel of how hard Harry is. Harry groans again, working his hips up. He pulls at Niall’s arse, his hands wandering before he can really stop himself. 

Niall drops down, his full weight pressing down into Harry’s lap. Harry watches their hips work together, the bulge in Niall’s jeans. 

“Fucking --” Niall swears, his voice breathy. He looks down, nudges a finger under Harry’s chin to make him look up. His eye are blown out and he looks a bit feral. Harry wonders if he looks the same -- he hasn’t had sex since his first change. He feels already half gone. 

“Yes,” Harry agrees, surging up to kiss him again. “Fucking. Let’s do that.”

Niall splutters a laugh, breaking some of the tension. His face has gone pink and he’s still breathing hard, his mouth red and bruised and turning up into a smile. 

Harry kisses him again, finds it hard to resist. “I wanna--” Harry says between kisses. He wants everything. Doesn’t know what he wants first. “I want you.”

Niall moans softly, his fingers tangling with Harry’s hand. He gives him one last kiss before he’s climbing up, towing Harry behind him. They stumble a little bit, Niall leaning down to blow out the candle. Harry steadies him with a hand to his hips, can’t help pushing his dick into the round of his arse. 

Niall laughs, his free hand going flat to the coffee table. “Harry,” he says and Harry curls over his back, nosing at the nape of his neck. Niall presses back against him, squeezing his fingers. The smoke from the snuffed candle curls up beside him and Niall pants another breath, his hand dragging Harry’s to the front of his jeans. 

They manage to get up the stairs, Harry pulling Niall’s shirt off him in the landing. 

“Hold on,” Niall says, laughing as he pushes Harry up against the wall. Harry’s hands are at the buttons of Niall’s jeans, one finger curling into the waistband. 

“Can’t,” Harry tells him, watching as Niall smiles again. 

Niall lights the lamp in the corner of the bedroom, stepping away from Harry. Harry takes the moment to catch his breath, glancing around his room. 

He realises he’s been here before, that this is the room he woke up in after he was bitten. He looks around at Niall and catches how he looks suddenly nervous. 

Harry unbuttons his jeans, pushes them down his thighs. Niall watches him from the other side of the room, his eyes trailing down over Harry’s body. 

“I haven’t --” Harry tells him, feeling a wave of cautious embarrassment. “I haven’t been with anyone since.”

Niall nods, his expression understanding but he doesn’t say anything. Harry wonders if he knew that already. 

Harry sits on the edge of the bed, fighting the urge to pull on his own dick. Niall walks towards him, his jeans cutting into his hips. Harry reaches for them as soon as he’s close, his hand going to his zipper again. 

Niall lets out a shaky breath and Harry glances up, sees how he still looks so nervous. 

“I don’t show a lot of people,” Niall says softly. 

Harry feels himself frowning, his fingers hooked in his belt loops. “Show them what?” 

Niall sweeps his palm over Harry’s bare shoulder and it makes him shiver, his fingertips brushing over where his bite is still healing. 

Harry blinks with the realisation. He hadn’t been self conscious of it in front of Niall at all. His eyes drag over Niall’s skin, doesn’t see any scar or blemish over his chest or soft belly. Hair trails down from his belly button into the waistband of his jeans but other than that he looks unmarked. 

“Can I? I want to see --” Harry breaks off hesitantly, wondering what the right words are. “Nothing is going to scare me.”

Niall closes his eyes, his fingers fumbling over the button of his jeans. Harry helps him, standing up when Niall sits down on the bed, shifting out of his jeans. He slides into the middle of the bed, pushing down his tiny black boxers too. Harry looks over his body in the dim light, his dick curving up onto his belly and smearing wetly. Harry’s gaze lingers there before he drags it down, his eyes catching on the gnarled scar on his left thigh. 

Niall’s still, his breath caught. He folds a hand over the head of his dick, the other pressed against the middle of his chest. He’s waiting to see Harry’s reaction, his eyes trained to Harry’s face.

Harry reaches out, skims his fingers over the grizzled flesh. The bite takes up the whole of his leg, like a chunk of muscle has been scraped away. His skin is puckered still but there’s no redness, the wound fully healed. It’s still ugly -- uglier than Harry’s. He must have been bitten a long time ago, Harry realises. 

“Is it sore?” Harry asks, his palm resting on Niall’s knee. Niall’s gone quiet, not even the sound of his breathing breaking the silence between them. 

It’s nearly too intimate -- Niall naked in front of him, his legs splayed slightly. Harry curls his fingers behind Niall’s knee, feeling the sweat gathered there. He moves his leg, not paying attention to the scar anymore. 

It’s not that he doesn’t want to look at it, that he’s too revolted to. It’s that he doesn’t think it’s important. It doesn’t define who Niall is. 

Niall’s eyes widen, his mouth dropping open. 

Harry presses his mouth to Niall’s knee, climbs up the bed so settle between his splayed legs. He moves his lips across the ridge of another scar across his knee cap, his tongue lapping out over it. 

Niall moans softly, barely there on the end of a breath. He strokes his dick once, just taking the edge off. Harry’s hips jerk at the motion of it. Wishing he would do the same to Harry. 

He mouths carefully up the inside of Niall’s thigh, his tongue licking up where he’s warm and sweaty. He takes Niall into his mouth gently, Niall muttering something softly up above him. Niall’s hand comes down to rest against Harry’s shoulder, his thumb pressing to his cheek. 

Harry breathes through his nose, bobbing his head. He hasn’t had a dick in his mouth in over a year -- longer really -- and he’s missed the weight of it, the taste. He spreads his hand over Niall’s hip, feels the way his stomach jumps and how he’s fighting the urge to buck up against him. 

It makes Harry feel good, makes him feel powerful that he can break Niall down like this. He brings Niall right to the back of his throat, the bitter taste of his precome rolling down his tongue.

Niall tugs at his hair, pulls him up. Harry pulls off wetly, gasping for air. 

“Gonna come,” Niall pants, his voice sounding rough. His other hand is curled into a tight fist with the effort. 

Harry leans back, careful not to brush accidently against Niall’s dick. He trails his hand down his thigh, his fingertips dancing gently over the scar again. Niall jolts, his knee lifting up. Harry pushes at it, makes him spread wider so Harry can settle between his thighs. He looks down, sees the clench of Niall’s hole. 

“Will you fuck me?” Harry finds himself asking, his mouth going dry. 

Niall stares up at him, wide eyed. “You don’t want to go the other way round?”

Harry laughs, looking down. His dick bobs between them. He has to swallow a few times before he can speak. “Just thought --” he trails off, feeling stupid. 

Niall laughs, all the tension bleeding away from his expression. “What, because I’m the alpha?”

Harry rolls his eyes at Niall’s joking tone. Niall takes pity on him and reaches up, pulling him down with a hand to his neck to kiss him. Harry tries to keep his weight on his hands but Niall lifts a leg, pushing with his heel at Harry’s back until he can wrap both his legs around Harry’s waist. 

Niall noses at Harry’s face, licks a stripe up his cheek. Harry laughs, tries to squirm away. Between them, Harry’s dick slides against Niall’s and it leaves them gasping. 

This close, Harry can feel every breath Niall takes, every noise from the back of his throat. The tiny moans under his breath, everything that makes him twitch. 

“You can fuck me anytime,” Niall whispers to him, like it’s a secret. 

Harry catches his mouth so he doesn’t have to speak. They kiss until Harry nearly feels wild with it again, his entire body wound tight. “Please,” he says when they break away, begging again. 

Niall nods, breathless. His face has gone pink, a pretty flush that’s worked its way down onto his chest. Niall brings his legs down, his feet planted on the mattress instead of in the air and Harry sits up, his hand flying to his dick again to ease some of the pressure. 

Niall twists to go looking for lube and Harry falls back, looks at the ceiling so he doesn’t get distracted by Niall’s arse waving in the air. 

“Here,” Niall says, a hand on Harry’s hip. He rolls over obediently, pressing his dick into the sheets. Niall snorts. “Hey,” he chides, pulling at his hip again. “On your side.”

Harry clutches at the corner of the duvet, squeezes it between his fingers to stop from just pulling himself off. It’s too slow, Niall’s fingers sliding down to his arsehole, the rub of them before they push in. 

It’s been so long since he’s done this with someone else. There’s something incredibly vulnerable in it and he squeezes his eyes shut, tries to relax properly. Niall’s free hand goes to his back, his fingers running gently up his spine. It nearly tickles, Harry arching against it. It lets Niall’s fingers slide in deeper, filling him up. 

“Ah, fuck,” Niall swears, pressing his mouth to the curve of his hip. “So good. You’re doing so well.”

Harry chokes, his dick jumping. He’s not going to last at all. 

“Come on,” he urges him, his voice got tight. He pats blindly behind him for Niall. “Now.”

“Just need to --” Niall says, his fingers sliding out in search of the condom. 

“Forget about it,” Harry moans, clenching his eyes shut. He squeezes around nothing, rolling over and spreading his legs so Niall can see. He doesn’t want to beg again. 

“Harry --” Niall starts. Harry thinks he’s going to protest again but then there’s the wet press of his dick at his hole, teasing, and then the blunt pressure as Niall starts to fuck into him. “Harry.”

Niall just keeps saying his name, as if he can’t believe it’s happening either. Harry can’t speak, his mind going blank except for the press of Niall’s dick until he’s sunk right in, his chest pressed up against Harry’s back. 

It feels like Niall’s everywhere, deep inside him, filling him up and all around him. Niall’s hands slide down over his hip, rolling him back onto his side. He pushes Harry’s leg wide in front of him, Niall’s knee spreading him wide. It makes Niall’s dick shift inside him, Harry groaning when he nudges up against his prostate. 

“Come on,” Niall murmurs, his voice hitching. He rolls his hips, fucks back into him. Harry drags a breath in, his throat aching. 

Niall’s fingers trail over his scar and then follows with his mouth. It makes Harry feel burning hot -- exposed and vulnerable -- but Niall’s gentle with him, his fingers ghosting over the dip above his hip. 

“I’m sorry,” Niall whispers, his tongue lapping over the puckered flesh. 

“It’ll fade,” Harry gasps out. It’s like Niall’s touch is igniting something inside him, all blood flooding south. He rolls his hips into the mattress, desperate for some sort of friction. 

Niall picks up a rhythm that has Harry’s hips jolting forward with every thrust. There’s no air in the room, everything too thick when Harry tries to breath. It makes his head swim, everything inside him zeroing down to the points where Niall’s touching him. 

His hand sweeps up over Harry’s ribs and he’s back to mouthing at his neck again, his teeth dragging across the mottled skin. 

Harry knows what he’s doing, something deep down inside just _knows_. He clenches down on Niall’s dick, hears how Niall’s breathing hitches with how close his mouth is to his ear. 

He’ll never ask. Harry knows he won’t and that’s what makes him say, “Do it.”

Niall stills, his hand pressed against the middle of his spine. “Harry,” he says softly behind him.

“Do it,” Harry says again, biting into the duvet. He wants something in his mouth. 

Niall rolls his hips, drawing out to push back in. Harry moans into the blanket, tears gathering in his eyes at how good it feels. His dick is trapped, the friction not enough with how much he wants it. 

Niall grunts, his leg lifting to get a better angle. Inside, the head of his dick nudges against Harry’s prostate. Harry groans again, a hand reaching back to blindly pull Niall closer. 

It’s too hot between them, sweat and lube making everything slippery. Harry feels like he could burst into flames, a line of heat spreading from the nape of his neck right down to his toes. 

Niall’s hand worms under Harry’s side and he pulls Harry further back into his chest. His other hand trails over his hip, reaches around to cup at his balls where they’ve drawn up tight. 

Niall’s teeth sink into the curve of his neck, just on the edge of his bite. Harry gasps, his fingers twisting in the sheets. It feels too hot -- like a brand. Niall’s hands feel slow as they drag over his hip, the one trapped below him coming up to hold him across his chest, his hand sliding over his heart. 

Niall rolls his hips, jolting them forward. His mouth is still clamped to Harry’s neck and he’s groaning, his hand clumsy as he drags it up Harry’s dick, squeezing around where he’s wet. Harry reaches there too, holds Niall’s hand around his cock, their fingers tangling as Harry starts to come. 

Harry closes his eyes at the _pull_ of Niall’s dick, the stretch of his hole around him. Niall’s humming against him, his breath puffing out of his nose damply against Harry’s jaw. 

Harry gasps for breath. It feels like he’s wrung out, the sensation of coming elongated and feeling harder than he’s ever came before. Niall sweeps his come up over his belly, his hand pulling gently at where Harry’s still hard. He pushes in again, the head of his dick making everything inside Harry light up again, too sensitive. 

“Niall,” Harry finally gasps, his head feeling too full. His heart thumps in his throat and as he swallows he feels something else too, Niall’s heartbeat against his back. Beating so hard that Harry can feel it in his own chest. Niall clutches him tighter, pressing Harry’s back against his chest as if he’s trying to push it against Harry’s skin. Harry gasps, his hand coming up to tangle at where Niall’s palm is still pressed to his chest. He smears come over Niall’s knuckles, their hands sliding together. 

Niall comes with a quiet cry, the sound muffled in Harry’s neck. He pulls away, curling behind him so he can breath deeply into the sweaty nape of Harry’s neck. Harry jolts with the sensation, as if he was coming again too. He feels the same tug behind his pelvis, the same roll of his stomach. Harry gasps, rolling his sensitive dick against the mattress. 

Harry’s neck feels alight. Blood pulses around him and with a wet tug, Niall pulls out of Harry. 

“Niall,” Harry says shakily. It’s the only thing he can say. He feels torn apart, everything a little raw at the edges. He grips at Niall’s fingers tighter, too scared to let them go. 

Niall hushes him, rolling back so he’s spooned up against him. They’re too hot, too sticky to stay like this but Niall curls around him, bringing his other arm over his hip until he’s hugging him against his chest. 

Harry feels hazy, his eyes drooping closed. Niall cuddles him close, keeping his hands steady at Harry’s front. It’s easy to relax back into him, his bones and muscles feeling heavy and sated. 

Niall’s tongue feels wet and cool against his blazing shoulder and they don’t say anything as Niall slowly laps at the bite. 

*

Harry hears it first -- the snick of the heavy front door, the creak of the floorboards on the stairs. It makes his senses flare, his ears pricking to hear the movements of the intruder through the house. They don’t seem to be making an effort to be quiet. 

Niall stirs a second later, his arms tightening around Harry’s waist for a moment, pulling him back against his chest protectively in the lingering moments of sleep. 

“It’s okay,” Niall murmurs close to Harry’s ear, his hand drawing up over his ribs as Niall rolls onto his back. 

The door flies open and Harry can’t help jumping up, his instincts taking over as he shoves himself up against the headboard. He blinks again, adjusting to the darkness and there’s a figure looming over the foot of the bed. 

“What the fuck?” Louis snarls. 

It sends the hair on the back of Harry’s neck up, the bitter disbelief in his tone.

“Louis,” Niall greets him. He’s sitting up, a little towards the centre of the bed. Harry could move his hand and press it against the bare skin of his spine. It’s nearly protective, like Niall wants to move in front of Harry entirely and hide him from view. It would never work, Harry’s still all gangly limbed and broad shouldered compared to Niall’s human form.. “What’s the matter?”

Louis looks intimidating at the end of the bed -- feral. His eyes flit from Harry and back to Niall. 

“Freddie’s missing,” he snaps. His whole body is vibrating, his shoulders heaving with every breath. Harry realises how tense he is. 

Niall’s out of bed before Harry can blink, the covers trailing half with him. “What? Where did he go?”

Louis’s glare turns sharp. “I don’t fucking know where he’s gone. It’s the middle of the fucking night. That’s why he’s _missing_.”

Niall growls at him and Louis takes a step back, his mouth snapping shut. Niall stoops down to pick through the clothes they’ve left on the ground. 

Louis starts to pace, his body thrumming. “The girls are going beserk.”

Niall reaches for him, his lean body stretching across the end of the bed to catch his arm. “Louis,” he says, wheeling Louis round to look at him. He’s still naked and Harry glances away, despite the fact that he’s just been wrapped up in his arms. Harry pulls the duvet up over his lap and tries to be quiet because at the end of the bed, Louis is slowly shaking apart. 

“It’s the middle of the night,” he says, his voice getting a little higher. “And it’s so close -- the eclipse -- _Niall_. What if something happens to him? What if --”

“We’ll find him,” Niall says. “He’ll be alright.”

Louis looks disbelieving, his face twisting angrily. “How can you just _say_ that?”

Niall stands tall. “Louis.”

Louis gives out a shaky breath, not quite a sob and crumples into his neck. Harry tries not to watch but he can’t help it. 

Niall’s face is tense, his lips pressed together. His hand combs gently through Louis’s hair, angling his head into Niall’s neck so he’s nearly hidden from view. It’s protective and warm and reassuring all at once.

They fit together perfectly. Harry wonders if Niall can somehow shape himself to fit them all, slotting into all the spaces where he’s needed most. 

He supports Louis as he shivers against his front, his hands pressing into Niall’s bare back. Harry blinks away the thought of his own hands scraping down Niall’s back a few hours earlier. 

He moves quietly, trying not to startle them or draw attention to himself. He knows that they know he’s there, he can feel Niall’s eyes flick over to check on him. 

Harry pulls on his pants in the dim light, feeling a little bit better about Louis seeing him now. He pulls the cord in the bathroom and the light in the ceiling snaps on brightly. His face looks a bit washed out in the mirror, his tattoos sticking out starkly. His shoulder is red, the shape of Niall’s mouth over the mostly healed bite. There’s a growing bruise sweeping under his skin, mottled a a deep red. It will purple before the morning. It’s tender when he traces his fingers over the teeth marks, makes him hiss softly when he presses against it harder.

“Give me five minutes,” he can hear Niall telling Louis in the other room. Harry glances through the doorway and sees Niall stepping away from him, a hand still resting on his bicep. Louis doesn’t look over at Harry, his face catching the light from the bathroom so Harry can see his eyes are a little glassy. 

Niall steps into the bathroom, all the breath leaving him in one sorrowful gust. Here, he doesn’t look reassuring at all. In fact, he looks like he’s the one that needs reassured.

Harry feels a bit cornered by it. He takes a step away from the sink, stands between the toilet and the shower, his toes curled against the cold tiles. 

“Niall?”

Niall lifts his head and Harry can see how tense he looks, lines wriggling across his skin with how hard he’s frowning. He’s worried. Harry can read it in his eyes. 

“Here,” Harry murmurs, reaching for him. Niall steps into his space easily, his eyes fluttering shut. His skin is warm and Harry presses them together, slows his breathing until it’s matching Niall’s. Their chests rise, their bellies press together. Going on instinct, Harry tucks his nose down into Niall’s bare shoulder. He feels Niall go lax, his weight dropping down onto Harry’s arms. 

“It’s okay,” Harry whispers. He’s conscious of Louis in the other room, of how he’s mirroring how they were standing only a few minutes ago. Harry moves his face, runs his lips over Niall’s ear so he can press his nose into his hair. 

“I hope I know what to do,” Niall murmurs quietly. He goes a little rigid, realising he said it out loud. 

Harry kisses the corner of his mouth. “You will.”

“Niall,” Louis says sharply from the doorway. Harry pulls away from Niall, feeling slightly guilty. They’re taking too much time. 

“I’m coming,” Niall says, glancing away from Harry and sweeping out of the room.

*

They take Niall’s car to the woods. 

Louis is a canister of anxiety, ready to explode at any given moment in the front seat. Niall doesn’t speak to him, just sits with one hand on the wheel and the other on his phone against his thigh. 

Harry’s in the back. Watching. 

It’s uneasy. Stifling even. 

Harry tucks his nose into the borrowed thick fleece jumper Niall had gave him. It smells faintly of Niall but not enough to say he had worn it recently. Niall had pulled his wardrobe apart, clothes spilling onto the floor by his feet as he picked out long sleeved shirts and soft jumpers. He had packed a bag in the kitchen -- water, cereal bars, a bunch of bananas -- and pressed it into Harry’s chest. 

Harry couldn’t fight the feeling of uselessness as he hovered behind him. The kitchen was still a mess, their plates still sitting on the table but Niall didn’t pay any attention them as he worked his way through the kitchen and into the utility room. 

Louis had watched from the door, his eyes sliding silently over the half empty plates from dinner, the bottles of beer gathered by the sink. 

Niall’s coat smelt of him -- earthy and warm -- when he pressed it into Harry’s arms too. “It’ll be freezing,” Niall told him. “After we change back.” 

Now, in the back of the car, Harry presses his nose into the collar of the coat. It settles something in his stomach -- that unwelcome queasiness of going out into the unknown. 

“We might have to wait to start in the morning when there’s more light,” Niall’s murmuring softly to Louis. Louis is rigid beside him, his hands clenched around his phone. 

“We need to find him right now,” Louis bites out. 

Niall breathes out calmly. “Louis.”

Harry watches the way Louis’s shoulders shake. A new moon normally dulls their senses but something about the eclipse tomorrow has everyone on edge. There’s no way that Louis has forgotten Harry is in the back. 

“What --” he starts, his voice quiet and raw. “What if he does something. What if he bites someone. He’s only a baby.”

Niall doesn’t answer, his phone lighting up on his lap. Louis lets out a breath, his shoulders pushing back into the seat and he sniffs, loud and wet before he pulls himself together. 

Niall parks in the space marked out for cars at the edge of the wood. There’s a little cabin where they charge you a fiver for the privilege during the summer, all those families out for a dander on a dry day or the Sunday joggers when they want a change of scenery. But there’s only one car parked here today; the only good thing about this time of the year is that it’s too cold for campers and school is in session so there’s less chance of stumbling upon randy teenagers up to no good. Niall parks right beside it and doesn’t say anything as he tumbles out, pulling the passenger door of the other car open. 

The sun is just about to rise, the sky turning a grim grey colour. There’s heavy cloud and it looks like it could rain. Harry feels prickly as the night ends. 

He’s not sure if it’s all in his head -- that strange feeling that creeps over him on the last day of the month, that tightness across his skin like he’s wrapped in cling film, the clammy sweat that gathers at the base of his spine even in the cold morning like this. It’s like a sickness, the first signs of a heavy head cold the day before it hits, not harsh enough that you can’t push through the day but the weighted feeling of impending misery.

The first few times it had been unpredictable and tortuous. His mood making him irritable and snappish. Niall had told him, in no uncertain terms, that he was to meet with them, that he wasn’t experienced enough to handle the change on his own but Harry had found it too humiliating to change with them, too excruciating. 

He’d fashioned himself a little device out of an old dog collar and rope and nearly tore his entire front room apart trying to get out of it. 

Niall had sat on his doorstep the entire night, his face impassive and lips blue when Harry had finally opened the door for him the next morning. He hasn’t been able to change on his own since. 

“We’re gonna split up,” Niall says, his head popping in through his open door. He glances at Harry over the headrest but says it all to Louis. “Set a wide perimeter. Laura’s taken the girls into town to look there, the park and swings. Liam’ll stick with you and Zayn’s going to set up camp for later. Me and Harry will take the beach.”

Louis looks over at him sharply. “You think he’s went into the water?”

Niall’s face is a mask of calm but Harry sees the way his cheek twitches. “We’re gonna check everywhere we can but we’ll take a look in all the places he’s familiar with first.”

“He can’t swim.”

Everyone is quiet for a moment, working over the implication of Louis’s words. 

“Right,” Louis snaps everyone out of it. “Come on.”

“We’re going to wait on first light.”

Louis’s head turns with so much force that it cracks loudly. Harry feels the sensation ghost down the back of his neck, his tendons aching. 

“We are not waiting!” Louis snaps, his hackles rising. 

Niall’s face sets into a determined line. “We’ll not be able to see. We can’t sniff him out. We haven’t shifted.”

“Niall --” Louis cuts himself off, looks at Niall like he’s disgusted. “If you had a child you wouldn’t --”

“Louis,” Niall raises his hands but Louis slaps them away. 

“Stop trying to calm me down like that. You’re fucking with my head. Fucking hell, Niall. You can’t expect me to _wait_. Look, you just don’t understand --”

“I get it --”

“You don’t.” Louis talks over him. “You’re never-- What if it was your little puppy dog here lying at the bottom of the ocean?”

Harry’s teeth are on edge at Louis’s reference to him, his nerves already feeling frayed. 

Niall’s face tightens at the vague threat. Harry’s neck burns, his wound throbbing. He lifts a hand and presses his fingers to it, pushing his palm under the collar of Niall’s coat. 

“Harry’ll stay. I’ll go to the beach with you. Now.” Louis tone sounds final. Harry watches Niall carefully. Over his shoulder he can see Liam and Zayn shift uneasily. 

Niall looks like he’s about to protest but Louis cuts him off. 

“You _owe_ me,” Louis says, his voice brittle and raw. There’s a change in the air at Louis’s tone. Niall’s defenses drawing up sharply. He looks like he’s going to argue with him but then he glances over at Harry and then away again. 

“Whatever. We need to get a move on.” His tone is sharp, impatient with all the planning it’s taking. Louis goes back to looking tense and Harry unbuckles his seatbelt, sliding out of the warmth of the car. 

Liam and Zayn are waiting for him outside, the other car locked up. Their faces look grim, eyes wide and alert for how early it is. 

“Come on,” Zayn says, reaching out an arm to greet him. “We’ll set a fire.”

Harry nods and goes to follow him. He glances over his shoulder as Niall and Louis pull out of the carpark. In the dim, Harry can just about make out how they’re arguing. 

“What was that about?” Harry asks him. 

Zayn shakes his head. “You don’t want to know.”

Harry frowns at the ground and follows him into the woods. They walk for about ten minutes until they reach a small clearing between the trees. Everything smells of damp, the soil soft from the rain over the past few days. Harry glances up, leaves obscuring most of the sky above them. 

“What if we don’t find him,” Liam wonders, his face pale.

“We will,” Zayn answers, his voice calm. 

They make quick work of the fire, finding enough branches and undergrowth for firewood. They pile in the middle of the clearing just as the sun starts to rise. 

“Come on,” Liam says. He’s been pacing the clearing since they finished the fire but enough sunlight is filtering through the trees for them to see properly. 

Zayn follows Harry into the wood. Harry keeps his eyes peeled but isn’t sure what he should be looking for. On a new moon, Harry feels most like himself -- his old self -- so they’ve got no advantage until they shift later. 

“Freddie!” Liam calls out from a few feet away. It’s still dim enough that Harry can’t make out where he is, just that he’s somewhere off to the right. 

Twigs snap under their boots, Zayn’s tread to his left. 

It’s hopeless. There’s square miles of forest this side of town. 

“You nervous for today?” Zayn asks, his feet tramping through the thick layer of wet leaves. 

Harry shrugs. He feels tight across the shoulders, his stomach twisting. He doesn’t feel as frustrated as yesterday, a blush working up his neck at the reason why. He lifts a hand to his neck, runs his fingers over the lovebite. 

“You’re not?” Harry asks, a beat too late. 

Zayn frowns, glancing over to him. “I don’t think we know what’s going to happen. But at least we’re all in it together.”

Harry nods. “Like a proper pack.”

Zayn laughs. “We are a proper pack.”

Harry hums noncommittally.

“Hey,” Zayn says, walking so their paths are closer together. He reaches out to touch Harry’s shoulder and he can’t help but shrink back from him. 

Zayn frowns, his eyes falling to Harry’s neck. “Has something happened?”

Harry shakes his head. “No. Nothing bad.” Zayn gives him a Look and Harry sighs. “Just don’t think Louis likes me being here with you all.” 

“He just feels a bit threatened by you,” Zayn shrugs, looking down at the underwood. 

“Me?”

“The alpha picking a mate throws a few spanners in the works but we’ll work through them.”

Harry’s face burns. He looks away, feels the urge to press against the bruise again. 

Zayn laughs. “A bit hard to keep secrets with us.”

“I don’t want to step on any toes. I didn’t ask for this --”

Zayn snorts. “I know you didn’t. Believe me, Louis knows that too.”

Harry stops. Zayn turns his head, his forehead dipped in confusion. “There it is again. All this cryptic shite. What’s going on?”

“Who do you think turned you?” Zayn asks, his eyes crinkling in confusion. “I mean. Work it out.”

Harry stares at him, trying to read his expression. “Louis?” Harry asks, frowning. That doesn’t make sense either. 

Zayn snorts, his hand clapping down on Harry’s shoulder. “No. You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Louis.”

Harry blinks at how blunt Zayn is being. 

“Niall?”

Zayn’s expression closes off, trying too hard to be impassive. 

“Niall did this to me?” Harry asks, his voice a little distant. Shock is making him go numb, his fingers tingling as he tries to process it. His old wound aches, the sting of Niall’s bite -- apparently his second one -- on top of it. 

Zayn’s face falls. “You really didn’t know?”

“No,” Harry says, his voice wobbling. 

Zayn winces, reaching for him. “Shit,” he says, pulling him into his arms. Harry goes easily, his body just reacting to Zayn’s hands. He finds his face pressed into Zayn’s bony shoulder but it’s not comforting. He doesn’t smell the same. 

He’s not Niall. 

“Fuck, don’t tell him I said, alright?” Zayn says, patting him on the back. Harry’s chest feels too tight, something lodging in his throat. 

Niall turned him. Niall was the one who had attacked him one warm night last summer as Harry walked home from the beach. 

He closes his eyes. The moon had been full, he knew that. It’s why he decided to walk instead of getting a lift with Gemma. It wasn’t even that late, plenty of people still at the beach. 

There was supposed to be shooting stars. The Perseids streaking purple and green across the sky down by the shore but the moon was so bright that most of them were hidden, the water reflecting white. 

Gemma had made a sort of picnic for them all, drinking bubbly prosecco out of little plastic cups and sharing handfuls of crisps. They had sat on a blanket up in the dunes, the summer night balmy enough that they weren’t cold. 

Harry hadn’t been back living there all that long and had taken the wrong turn home. He remembers an old fence, the wood rotting at the posts. It shook as he climbed over it into the long grass on the other side. Up on the hill, the sprawling painted house looked over the town. He had fiddled with his phone to shine the torch, the light catching on a set of bright blue eyes. 

Harry had woken the next morning to a pale ceiling and Zayn sitting at the foot of the bed. 

“Sorry,” Harry says, shaking himself. There’s a well of hurt in his belly that it hadn’t been Niall waiting for him to awaken. “Let’s keep looking.”

“Harry,” Zayn calls after him as Harry sets off further into the trees. “Are you alright?”

“We just need to find him,” Harry calls over his shoulder, his voice rough. 

*

Liam stumbles across them an hour later, his face grim. “No word,” he says quietly. “We need to head back.”

The sun is bright in the sky now, Harry feeling warm under all his layers. Zayn has been trying to keep up the conversation but Harry hasn’t been in the mood to chat. He’s been running through everything with Niall -- every conversation, every meeting -- for any sign that he had missed. 

“He’ll be alright, Liam,” Zayn’s saying to Liam. Harry manages to keep pace with them but doesn’t offer anything to the conversation. 

“Cheryl’s going to fucking kill me when she finds out,” Liam hisses, his hand going to rub at his face. “Fucking hell. Why did I do this to her?”

“You can’t be on your own all the time,” Zayn sighs. “Give yourself a break.”

“Why can’t I?” Liam snaps, feeling sorry for himself. He looks miserable, his eyes on his boots as they trudge through the mulch below them. 

“It’ll send you mad,” Zayn tells him. “Can’t be a lone wolf forever.”

Liam snorts. “Niall manages fine.”

Zayn meets Harry gaze sharply. It’ll send you _mad_. Harry swallows, turns away from them. His neck feels hot again and when they reach the clearing, Harry can see Niall at the opposite side of the fire. 

He looks up when they arrive, Louis pale and distressed looking beside him. 

“Nothing,” Liam tells him, going immediately to his side. “How about you guys?”

“What do you think?” Louis asks irritably. 

Zayn gives Harry a final glance before going to finish setting up camp. There’s a few other people too -- Eoghan and Laura, Lou and Helene -- gathered by the other side of the fire. 

Souts is hanging up his coat on the low branch of a tree, his bomber hardly looking like it would keep out a chill. 

Niall meets him by the edge of the treeline. He’s lost his coat too, looking soft and rumpled in his woolen jumper. “I got you coffee,” he tells him, his mouth lifting up in a soft smile. “Thought you might be tired. We,” he hesitates, his smile growing. “We didn’t get much sleep, did we?”

Harry’s face burns. Niall looks endearingly sweet. Oblivious to what Harry now knows. 

Harry can’t even look at him. “I’m fine, thanks.”

Niall’s face falls and he sets the two coffee cups onto the ground beside the fire. On the opposite side, Zayn’s striking a match to light it. 

“It’s going to be okay,” Niall tells him. Harry feels sick suddenly, his stomach turning. His skin is hot -- hotter than usual for the night of. He turns and tries not to look at Niall at all. 

“Hey,” Niall says, his fingers skimming Harry’s waist. “It’ll be just like a normal shift, I reckon. Do you want to go somewhere a little more private to do it? I can come with you. No one else has to see.”

Harry shakes him off, not missing the wounded expression that flits across Niall’s face. 

“I’m fine. Don’t need yo--” Harry cuts himself off. A lump lodges in his throat. He can’t get over the thought of Niall knowing all this time, seeing him like this. 

Making him like this. 

The bitterness in his stomach feels hot until it spreads up his chest and behind his pelvis. He turns his head away so Niall won’t see his grimace. 

Niall takes a step back, his face etched with concern. Behind him, the fire catches and flames spread through the kindling quickly. It fills the clearing with heat and Harry feels a sweat prick at the nape of his neck. Harry pulls off Niall’s coat, the smell of it distracting. 

Niall retreats to the other side of the fire, his head tucked down to speak to Louis. He keeps his eyes trained on Harry and Harry does his best to ignore him. 

It’s a surprise when the change takes over him. Harry, used to the approach of twilight as a build up to it, is caught unawares when his skin starts to prickle and there’s a sharp pull in his gut. He pulls his t-shirt up over his head, the others glancing over at him to watch. 

Harry had asked at the beginning what it would feel like, scared to hear the answer. Louis had said it didn’t take that long, that he’d just get used to it. Zayn wouldn’t even speak to him about it. Told him to fuck off and mind his own business. Laura had laughed and said he still didn’t have it as bad as the girls. 

Niall had shrugged, told him that it felt natural. That he was amazed with what his body could do. That he sometimes sort of liked it. It made him feel powerful. 

Harry would describe it as being pulled inside out.  
Harry groans, shoving his hand to his mouth to muffle it slightly. From the corner of his eye he sees Niall take a step forward so he turns, putting up a wall between them with his shoulders. There’s no privacy around the fire, his shoulders rounding in on themselves. The trees in front of him swim, his vision going blurry until he blinks it away.

It feels incrementally different to any time he’s shifted before. He doesn’t know if it’s because of the eclipse, because it’s in the middle of the day and not at night, or if it’s because of the mark on his shoulder, the burn of Niall’s bite more ferocious than anything else in his body. 

He tips forward, puts a hand out to balance against a tree. His body curls, his shoulders hulking upwards and twisting down in front of his chest. The tree feels cool against his overheated palm, the bark scraping against his hands as they start to curl into each other, his fingers shortening, nails turning into claws.

He’s getting used to that -- the pains that shoot through his legs and arms, the crack of his back and the hair sprouting up, one by one onto his knuckles, prickling across his neck, down his throat and chest until he’s covered in a pelt of fur. 

He’s not expecting the warmth spreading from the mark on his shoulder. It feels like warm, syrupy liquid as it moves down across his chest, over his heart, between his lungs. Viscous oil that rolls down in rivulets over his back, down the crevice of his arse. It sinks down past his stomach, settles behind his pelvis. 

It makes him feel hard, the curl of anticipation of a really good orgasm building. Harry grunts, doubles over. He couldn’t straighten if he wanted to, his shoulders weighed down by how they’re changing, shoulder blades twisting, his spine curving. 

He whines. Begging. And drops to the ground, his limbs all legs now. 

Harry takes a few moments to catch his breath, twinges of pleasure he’s never associated with the change before zinging over his body. He presses his belly low to the ground, growls at the friction. 

Around him, the pack is transforming, the change coming over them all. Some of them take longer than others, sliding into their wolf in a circle around the fire. 

Harry’s used to that -- most of the time he’s the first one to shift into his wolf, the tightness on his skin taking over before he has time to resist. He has no grip on it at all, can’t slow it or control it. Niall says it’s normal, that he’ll grow into it but Harry sometimes feels a bit embarrassed to be the first down to all fours.

It normally means he’s the last to change back too, clinging to his wolf far longer than everyone else. 

Harry noses the ground. There’s not the same pull as with a moon. It’s actually a little disorientating -- the way his shoulders roll, how he can properly feel the dampness of the ground, the crispness of the air. It feels sharper. Harry can sense everything with an unclouded mind, as if he hadn’t changed into his wolf at all. 

When he inhales he can smell the forgotten coffee, the smokiness from the fire. The forest smells rich with grasses and trees, woodsy and green. 

He can tell the others are a little lost too without the urge of a full moon. They scurry in a circle, the same relentless energy building in their muscles but with no inkling what to do with it. 

Harry has the clarity to recognise everyone for the first time. Liam with his shaggy hair, recognisable with how he sticks close to Louis. Louis looks laden with worry, his head hanging between his shoulders. He’s thinner than the rest, lithe and quick like a whippet. 

Zayn’s just as quick looking, his fur darker round his face and long in the ruff. He bolts between them, scurrying between Louis and over to Niall. Eoghan shakes down into his wolf, the tallest of them all but he slinks over to Laura, ignoring the rest of them to chase her tail. 

Niall’s the last to change, still folding down into himself. He makes it look easy, his body sliding together as if it’s natural. 

He stays still, sitting on his paws. He doesn’t look affected by the change at all. His fur is soft looking, long enough that it ripples a little in the light breeze. It’s a pale brown, turning a soft deep gold in certain spots. His eyes are the same though, bright blue and focused on Harry, his expression unreadable. 

Harry turns his head, sets his nose to the ground. He’s never asked what the others feel like when they change -- he’s asked questions about how much it hurts, how long it takes, the differences between them but he’s never asked about this. Normally, it’s a blur. Like he’s spent the night drinking, his memory disjointed. Harry remembers his time as a wolf in vague streams of consciousness. 

Now it feels like he’s experiencing it for the first time in high definition. 

Niall pads over to him, his body close to the ground. There’s a pull there. A pull to go to him and press his snout to his broad neck. Harry’s breathing picks up, his jaw dropping open so he can pant. He can taste the anticipation on his tongue, the heat between them. Taste Niall. 

It’s not normal. Harry’s mind spins and he edges closer. He’s still angry at him, all those human feelings there still in his belly but dulled where something more primal is taking over. 

Niall stands up tall when he gets to him. His wolf is not the tallest of the group but intimidating with the way Niall carries himself. He looks soft now but there’s something more fierce lingering under the surface, his body emanating an energy that shows he could turn at any moment. 

Harry whines, feeling the pressure to sit under him, to be small when he’s around. The weight of an alpha’s stare. 

Niall noses at his ear, his tongue escaping out to swipe wetly over the top of Harry’s head, down over his brow. Harry chases it, Niall snuffling out a breath before he drops to the ground beside him. Harry watches as Niall presses into the soil, tucking his nose under Harry’s front paw. 

Over his shoulder, the rest of the pack are circling. Watching. Laura and Eoghan are no longer playing, no one is messing about. 

Harry feels the weight of their curiosity and confusion heavy on his shoulders. He can feel their shock at Niall’s actions, like a great intake of air at once when Niall shifts forward, nudging himself further under Harry’s chin. He whines at Harry’s inaction, lifting his head to butt gently at Harry’s throat. 

Harry’s not sure what to do. It feels important. Every move heavy with protocol and etiquette. The rest of the pack feel frozen out. All of them still on the edge of Harry’s eyeline. 

Harry edges forward, pushes until his body is pressed against Niall’s. He can feel the thump of his heartbeat, the heat of it through his fur and skin as if Niall’s heart was shaking inside his ribcage alongside his own. As if the pair of them were sharing one heartbeat. 

Niall smells warm. Smells of the grass they’re lying near, of soil and dirt but also of old books, of the candle in his living room, the cool softness of his sheets. Smells of Harry. He smells of all these things but they ignite images in his head instead. Harry closes his eyes, sees Niall on his doorstep, inside his house. Sees him smiling at him at pack meetings, his hand on the small of his back as he walks him to the door. He thinks of him sprawled out on the sofa, of him relaxed in front of the TV. He thinks of his mouth on Harry’s, how he kissed him so softly. Savoured it. 

Harry rolls against him, pressing his face into Niall’s belly. Niall whines again but sounds happy. Harry can hear the difference. Can feel it. He can feel the elation, the joy in Niall where they’re pressed so close. It’s instinct and it’s nearly too much for Harry to handle. 

He rolls onto his side, giving Harry better access. Niall’s tongue swipes out again and he curls over, his mouth pressing against Harry’s flank, his tongue brushing over his fur, searching for the little spot above Harry’s front leg. It’s stretched out with the way his body has changed, his fur mostly covering it but it’s just as tender, makes him stretch away when Niall clamps his mouth down on it. 

Harry yelps, fighting the urge to curl away. It feels too intimate to be happening outside, out in the open in front of the rest of the pack like this. There’s something performative in it though, like Niall wants them all to see something so intimate. 

Up above, the moon is starting to close over the sun. It’s getting darker, Harry blinking as his eyes adjust to the gloom.

Niall shifts, his teeth unclamping as he lavs over the mark he’s made. It feels hot, all the heat in his body sucking up to that spot on his shoulder. Harry presses his belly against the ground again, tries not to rut against it. 

Louis growls impatiently and it’s nearly as if Harry can hear him complaining. This shouldn’t be an interruption in their hunt for Freddie. They shouldn’t be wasting time like this. 

_Freddie_. He had nearly forgotten. 

And just like that Harry’s head clears. Niall’s on his feet, pushed up tall. He noses at Louis, as if to apologise. Louis tries to bite at him but there’s no heat in it. 

The pack circle Niall, crowd in around them. There’s a space left for Harry -- as if they all know to keep him there. It’s the spot right beside Niall, the spot normally held by Zayn. 

Harry gets to his feet shakily. His shoulder is aching now that Niall’s not beside him. He stares at the gap for a moment, pushing in between Niall and the tall dark wolf he knows is Souts. It settles him, Souts’ fur brushing up against Harry’s legs, the heat of the pack surrounding him. 

Niall growls lowly. As if he had spoken, the pack breaks apart and spreads across the clearing. 

Harry puts all thoughts of Niall to the back of his head and sniffs the air again. Above them, the sun is nearly gone, the moon closing in on the last sliver of bright white. It hurts to look too closely at it and Harry puts his head down again, feels the power in his back legs gearing up for a run. 

He can smell something that shouldn’t be there. Something human. 

But it’s more than human. It smells of talc powder and Sudocrem, like soft downy hair and cotton -- things that shouldn’t be in the middle of the woods -- but it reminds him of funny faces over shoulders, slick slobbery teething rings and bright giggles. It feels like tiny hands gripping his fingers as Harry tries to help him walk over the spongy safety covering of the playground, of shrieks of a baby in a swing. 

It had been sunny that day, all of them feeling drained after a moon that weekend. Niall had invited Harry personally, saying he needed to see them all for once on their two feet. 

Harry takes off. 

Someone barks abruptly behind him but Harry keeps going, his feet trampling over broken twigs and sharp stones hidden in the undergrowth. He feels them tear in his paws, sticking into the soft sides of them, his claws pulling up clumps of dirt as he speeds up. 

The smell gets stronger. When he blinks he’s back at the picnic bench, Freddie kicking up a fuss at the other end while Niall smiles across the chipped wood at Harry. It was still sort of damp -- or so cold it feels it -- the cool seeping into the seat of his jeans. Someone had made sandwiches cut into triangles and Niall had laughed when Harry said he could eat the whole box.

He traces the smell across the wood rather than deeper into it. The crackle of the fire seems far away but Harry can hear the thump of paws on the ground as everyone follows him. Harry is fast, the energy building and building across his spine, down his sides and into the thick muscles of his back legs. 

Up above, the moon has completely blocked out the sun. It’s dark, even darker than a night with no moon. It sends a shiver through him, how cool it is after it being such a bright morning. It’s not even lunchtime but the ground feels cold, his feet thundering across it. 

He skids to a halt, noses around the base of a few trees. There’s a rustle of leaves as the breeze picks up, the pack still behind him. There’s another yowl into the air, the flap of birds escaping the trees. 

Harry’s claws scrabble at shrubbery and there, in a dark, warm hole of a tree, is Freddie. 

He’s asleep, his face smoothed out and his long eyelashes brushing over his pink cheeks. His mouth opens as he breathes and he’s indisputably human. 

Harry takes a step back to bark for the rest of the group, to let them know he’s here. Boundless joy erupts under his sternum, he’s okay, he’s alive, he’s back to being a baby. 

Harry doesn’t know how to pick him up without hands. He doesn’t want to bite him, can’t pick him up by the scruff of his neck. 

Harry opens his jaws, feels the rest of them in the air on his tongue and then he’s being shoved sideways, something heavy and painful crashing into his side. 

There’s a flurry of noise then, a sharp barking, the grisled growling of something close, deep pained panting. 

Harry tries to twist out of it, his foot lashing out protectively. He hears the crunch of bone and thump of his head reverberating against the ground where he’s pinned. 

It’s feels too sharp when he breathes, his side twinging with every panting breath. He manages a growl but it comes out pitiful, mournful, a thready whine.

And then it’s gone. The dead weight on top of him disappears as another wolf appears, his jaws clenched. Niall’s growl reverberates between the trees, his front two legs rearing up to push at Louis’s flank. 

It’s the wolf that’s been simmering under Niall’s softness. It’s the wild thrash of jaws, the growl that rises above the rest. 

The rest of the pack shrink back as Niall and Louis start to tumble, their jaws smacking as they go for each other. It’s loud -- the yelp and yowl of each of them. They’re unrelenting, the earth shifting around them as they fight. Niall pins Louis to the ground but he fights against him, his body whipping to the side to get the upper hand. 

Harry has a slow ache in his side. He tries to push to his feet but his paws just move dirt, unable to support his body weight. His vision clouds for a moment, going blurry. If he was human, he would have the urge to be sick. 

Harry falls back onto his side, his legs out in front of him. His fur feels wet and sticky, something warm soaking into his hind legs and down towards his paws. His tail flaps, the ache sharpening with every thump of it against the ground. All of his effervescent energy drains into the soil below him, the warmth leaving him.

In the tree trunk, Freddie wakes up, a childish -- human -- cry renting the air. Louis roars but Niall is louder.

The sun is getting bigger again, a backwards crescent bringing more light into the world. Harry shivers, his spine shaking underneath a thin layer of skin and he closes his eyes on the new brightness, never feeling ready for the change back. 

*

Harry wakes up to a tongue between his fingers. He’s groggy, sleep trying to pull him back under. He’d prefer that actually, the blissful black of his eyelids. 

He twitches his fingers, fingertips brushing up against a stubbled jaw, the wet of a tongue. Harry opens his eyes. The ceiling above him is white, bathed in the warm glow from a lamp beside the bed. He doesn’t know what time it is. It feels like he’s been in a dream and he shivers at the phantom feeling of the cool dim of the woods. 

His body aches. He doesn’t want to move, too scared that the tiniest movement will make his whole body seize with pain. 

There’s another lap of a tongue over his palm and he finally looks down. 

Niall meets his gaze sheepishly. “It’s less creepy when you’re a wolf.”

“Yes,” Harry agrees, pulling his hand out of the vicinity of Niall’s mouth. 

Niall tries his best not to show his hurt but Harry can see through him, can see the flick of his eyelashes as he closes them, the downturn of his mouth, the way he seems to wince and then catch himself. 

Harry thinks that’s it for them now -- unable to hide anything from each other anymore. There’s something changed between them. Something extra there that wasn’t before, something constant tied between them.

Bonded. 

“You bit me,” Harry says, his voice like gravel. 

Niall looks up at him, his shoulders falling. He doesn’t look completely surprised. “Yeah,” he answers honestly. “I’m sorry.”

They lock eyes and Harry’s shoulder aches. He can remember Niall pressing up against him in the woods, the way he had let him. The way he had felt so close to him that it was as if they were the same wolf. 

“That’s okay,” Harry says, letting his hand nudge against Niall’s knuckles. 

Niall stares at him, his eyes widening. “Thank you.”

Harry feels himself start to smile. “You’re not fully forgiven. You’ve lots of making up to do.”

Niall doesn’t joke back. “We can talk about it. When you’re feeling better. We can talk about it properly.”

Harry nods, the movement making his side throb again. He swallows against the urge to be sick, his head feeling thick and full. He curls his fingers against Niall’s wrist, tugs him closer. 

“What happened?”

Niall’s face twists and he looks mutinous for a brief moment. Harry’s not used to his human face looking like that. It’s shocking how it can go like that after looking so soft and sweet. 

“Louis got a little too over protective,” Niall mutters, shaking his head. “Nearly fucking killed you. He’ll be along at some point to apologise.”

It sounds a little threatening the way Niall says it and it makes Harry huff a laugh again. 

“Let him spend time with Freddie. He’s alright, isn’t he?”

Niall’s face softens. “Yes. All thanks to you.”

Harry turns his head into the pillow, hiding his smile. Niall grins at him, shifting up closer to the head of the bed. 

“Can I?” he asks, softly. He glances over Harry’s face hesitantly, his forehead creasing when he drags his eyes down the side of his body. Harry doesn’t want to look, can feel the heat of his skin knitting itself back together.

“Yeah,” Harry replies, just as soft. He feels better with Niall closer, just the closeness of his body making him feel calmer. He could slip back to sleep, his eyelids fluttering. 

Niall kisses him gently, his hand coming up to cup over his cheek. His palm is cool against Harry’s overheated face and it feels soothing. Harry sighs into it, his mouth moving wetly against Niall’s. 

Niall breaks away to gasp softly. He presses his forehead against Harry’s. “I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t mean to bite you.”

Harry closes his eyes. He feels too swimmy still to take this in properly. Niall sounds like he needs to say it though so he stays quiet, tries his hardest to listen. 

“It was so hard to keep it a secret. I knew you’d be so angry. _I_ would have been angry. If I could meet my maker -- I --”

Harry hushes him, screws his face up as he shifts further back on the bed. “C’mere.”

When he blinks his eyes open, Niall looks downcast, his expression ashamed. “Harry. I really am sorry.”

“And you’re going to make it up to me,” Harry reminds him. He feels on the edge of sleep. “No more half raw steaks, though.”

Niall laughs, low and soft. “Okay. Whatever you want.”

Harry lets his fingers curl at Niall’s wrist again and then Niall finally gets it, standing up so he can crawl onto the bed beside him. 

Harry bites his lip against the pain of moving. The bed dips under Niall’s weight and he gingerly moves Harry’s head so he can lie beside him and share his pillow. Harry shifts slightly, pushes his head onto Niall’s shoulder and chest. It’s infinitely more comfortable this way, his eyes closing as he curls into the heat of Niall’s chest. 

It takes a few moments for Niall to finally relax, his body going limp under him. He lifts a hand casually and rests it on Harry’s shoulder. His thumb brushes over the bruise on Harry’s neck. Harry doesn’t even know if Niall realises he’s doing it. 

Harry goes boneless, his body heavy. He matches his breathing to Niall’s slow and even inhale, their chests rising in time. 

Harry listens to his heart, so close it’s as if it’s his own. 

And when Niall brushes over the bruise again, it hardly hurts at all.

**Author's Note:**

> A little snippet from Niall's POV [here](http://broken-drums.tumblr.com/post/164988268551/pov-of-something-in-your-wolves-fest-fic)!


End file.
